


Take You Down

by WinterAssets



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rope Bondage, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5302088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterAssets/pseuds/WinterAssets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You’re sinking; that’s what it feels like at least. You’re sinking and you can’t come up for air. For a moment you panic, but then you let yourself breathe carefully and you realize that you can breathe. Their faces all flash in front of you, fast and taunting, but then they get slower, their voices start molding together, and your body starts to slump and relax, your wrists tugging against the bonds just to remind you that they’re there. Ward’s fingers skirt along your wrists every ten minutes or so, making sure that they’re not too tight and that you didn’t fall asleep. His fingers brush your forehead each time, moving the fringe that is there out of your eyes and humming that’s a good girl underneath his breath and you feel something hot coil in your stomach at pleasing the very agent who taught you everything you knew. </i>
</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>The four times Grant Ward takes you down, and the one time he lets you take him down after a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

The first time you feel it, it’s an itch that you can’t scratch.

You’re in the bathroom of the jet, staring at your broken lip as you pull in a careful breath through your nose, trying to remember how you got it. The memories of your fights are always blurry; you can never remember because you have this nagging habit of getting hit hard in the head with each fight. Coulson has told you thousands of times to watch your head and keep it guarded or he’s going to send you in with a helmet, but you haven’t listened. You were trained well, you could do this, and it was up to  you to prove that mission in and mission out.

It’s an adrenaline rush, or at least that’s what Jemma has told you before when she’s locked you away like a lab rat after missions to check for concussions. It doesn’t  _feel_ like an adrenaline rush though; all you can see is the people you’ve taken out, see your bullets piercing through their skin. You can never take yourself down from it all; it just rushes through you, over and over again, until you’re ready to scream. You’ve woken up the bunks screaming before, and even though you try and smother it into a pillow, it never works. You’re trained and you can handle missions, but it’s just the aftermath that you can’t shake.

It drives you crazy; you see the ghosts of them in the mirror as you clean your injuries. You dab at the blood on your lip and you can taste theirs, and the iron nearly makes your stomach quiver. There’s just something you can’t shake; their screams, the looks in their eyes, their last breaths as they stare up at you, bewilderment and hatred hidden on their faces. Everyone else can; they act as if nothing phases them. But you don’t have a safe spot, you still can’t shake the adrenaline off, and you find yourself pacing the floor of the living room sharply with your heeled boots.

They clack even though it’s well past two in the morning, and you hear soft groans coming from the bunks. You know you’re waking Fitz up, can hear the distinct accent in his groan, and you want to still. You want to apologize and head back to your bunk, but you know it’ll be no use. The bunks are small and there’s not enough room to twist and turn like you need to. You can’t escape the thoughts there, not that this is much better, and you swallow hard while you run your fingers through your hair.

A door opens behind you and you don’t turn around; you just don’t want to, not yet, and your hands are clenched in tight balls at your sides. It’s like you can’t shake it off, and you’re sure it’s going to be Coulson telling you to go to bed, that you’re disrupting everyone and to just  _stop and relax_ , but you can’t. You just  _can’t turn it off_  and it makes you want to scream because it’s just  _too much_  right now.

Firm hands grip your wrists and turn you around. Your eyes narrow and you struggle for a minute before you pull in a sharp breath, the musk of his cologne and his shampoo moving all around you. You bite down on your lip and he gives you a slight smirk before he pushes you towards the stairs that lead down towards the rooms, and you nod your head before walking forward. You know the bottom floor has the training rooms and the cargo bay and the like, but you also know that May and Ward both have their rooms down here; they don’t have to suffer the bunks – they’re proven agents.

Once his door closes behind you, you turn to look at him, curiosity in your eyes in the dim room. He nods towards the bed for a moment, then brings his attention back to the seat belts that he’s removing from the emergency seats in the plane. “Get on the bed.”

“What are you doing?” You question carefully, allowing your body to slowly move towards the bed. You toe off your boots with care, carefully bringing your knees up to your chest as you pull in a careful breath. You lay back and let your head rest on his pillow, eying him slightly as he moves around the bed with the belts in his hands. He finally rests on the edge and begins to slip the belts into knots around your wrists, and you struggle for a moment before Ward puts a stilling hand on your wrist and you go pliant under his rough touch.

“I’m taking you down,” he answers calmly, looking at you for a moment before he ties the belts tighter. You suck in a sharp breath and swallow hard, staring up at the milky colored belts as you try to remember how to actually process the breath.

“Like I’m a threat?” An unattractive snort leaves your lips but Ward just rolls his eyes, tightening the belts again for good measure and watching as your eyes flutter for a minute. This feels strange, different, but not bad, and you bite into your lip as you watch him, waiting for him to do something. He’s got a slight smile on his face and he carefully lets his fingers run down your wrist.

“Not like you’re a threat. Like you’re an agent who just can’t get away,” he finally counters, and his eyes come up to meet yours. You look at him curiously, and he lets out a soft laugh before tugging on the bonds that hold your wrists and you try not to keen because  _oh_  that’s  _really distracting_. “And because I know how it is to see them every time you try to get away from it all. So I’m taking you down.”

Your eyes remain on his curiously and Ward can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips before his hand runs down your arm further. You let out a slow breath as he reaches your elbow. “I want you to close your eyes and just breathe. Focus on the belts. If they’re not tight enough for it, I’ll tighten them more.”

You try to tug against them and know that you can slip out of them easily, so you give Ward a short nod. He reads your body language for a moment before he tightens them more until your eyes slip close, and you let out a slow breath. You can sense the smile on his face as he stands up, leaving the bed and grabbing the remote to the stereo. A soft static hum comes through the room and it’s something you can’t understand, but you don’t pay any attention to it.

You’re sinking; that’s what it feels like at least. You’re sinking and you can’t come up for air. For a moment you panic, but then you let yourself breathe carefully and you realize that you  _can_  breathe. Their faces all flash in front of you, fast and taunting, but then they get slower, their voices start molding together, and your body starts to slump and relax, your wrists tugging against the bonds just to remind you that they’re there. Ward’s fingers skirt along your wrists every ten minutes or so, making sure that they’re not too tight and that you didn’t fall asleep. His fingers brush your forehead each time, moving the fringe that is there out of your eyes and humming _that’s a good girl_  underneath his breath and you feel something hot coil in your stomach at pleasing the very agent who taught you everything you knew.

Ward trained you; you and him didn’t need words. You both had been training together for so long now that you knew each others’ every move. It was an antagonizing process and he’s knocked you out more times than you can actually count, but it’s all a warm memory. It’s not a cold one; nothing could be when you were doing what you wanted. It was a blank memory at times where it was all too fast and you couldn’t catch up. It was all a cool memory in the times when both you and Ward had been separated for missions and you had no idea if he was coming back. Ward kept it calmer than you ever could, and you supposed it was just the way you got attached. You owed him your life on more than one occasion, and when Coulson was building the team, you were chosen by Ward and used as a bargaining leverage.

You remembered the relentless nights spent in the training room, remembered the broken lips and shiners and the sprains that you never thought would heal. Ward was ruthless; once he honed in on an injury he kept going for them, because if he didn’t, you would never learn. You wouldn’t know how to dodge his leg when it swept out and kick hard at the juncture of his thigh to bring him down in retaliation. You’d never learn to elbow him in the throat when he grabbed your arm and bent it backwards. It was all a learning process, a give and a take, and you were that agent that wanted to soak it all up. You  _wanted_  the abuse. If you had the abuse, it meant you were learning. You wore every shiner, every sprain, every broken bone with pride because you were learning. You were becoming a real agent, and you were beginning to learn how to handle yourself on the field.

You yearned for that familiar ache throughout your body after a while. When you didn’t have it, it felt strange, like you weren’t  _alive_  if you didn’t feel as awful as you felt in that moment. You wanted that ache in your bones, wanted the shiners and bruises; it meant that you were alive, that you were meant for something that was so much more than the desperation that always brewed in your veins.

A sharp tug to the belts had you pulled out of your thoughts, and you let out a soft keening noise without thinking of it. You practically leaned into the yank and felt a shiver move down your spine when you heard Ward’s breath quicken. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Grounding but weightless at the same time.”

You nodded your agreement and you knew you never wanted to leave the bonds; the faces had faded and your body felt the adrenaline running down to a soft, manageable hum. If Ward hadn’t tugged at the restraints every now and then, you doubted that you would still be awake. “Want to come down?”

It took you a minute to process the question, but when it hit home you nodded. Ward began to deftly undo the restraint in a few quick pulls, and then your wrists were free. He helped you sit up, rubbing at the slight brush burn that was forming on your wrists. You opened your eyes carefully, curious as you bit down on your lip. Your body felt weightless, like if Ward wasn’t holding your wrists, you’d float away. “How did you know to do that?”

“I told you – I’ve been in that situation before.” A small smile formed on his face before he shook his head. “I’ve had exes do it to me. I’ve tied my own wrists before. Sometimes you need the restraint to feel how human you are.”

Your eyes moved along his features and Ward merely smirked, nodding to clock. Your eyes widened when you realized that it was nearing four in the morning, and you quickly got up from the bed. Your entire body swayed, your knees nearly giving out for a moment. Ward let out a loud laugh and grabbed your hips, steadying you and peering up at you through his eyelashes.

“You ever need to come down again, you come find me. Don’t keep yourself and the others up; you’ll jeopardize the team.” His voice was soft but you could detect the firm command around the edges. You nodded firmly once and he gave you a slight smile. Standing up, he pecked your temple firmly. “There’s my good girl. Now to your bunk you go.”

Ward gave you a slight shove in the right direction, and you couldn’t help but look back at him over your shoulder. He says nothing, just leans against his bed with a satisfied and knowing smirk on his lips.  

You try to push back the hot coil in your stomach again at that look the entire way back to your bunk. You fall asleep as soon as your body hits the mattress, not paying attention to how uncomfortable it is; all you can feel is the slight scrape of the belts against your wrists still and the sharp tugs that Ward provides.

When you dream it’s not of missions going wrong or those that you’ve taken down; they’re of Ward taking you down, and you wake up wide eyed and sweating, staring up at the ceiling and running your hands over your face, trying to push the thoughts away.

You don’t want to make a habit out of him taking you down. You  _want_  to make a habit of getting so riled up that he has to.

This was not the healthy mentality that they talked about during training. They didn’t prepare you for this.


	2. II.

The second time it happens, you’re not full of adrenaline and you haven’t been on a mission.

Your fingers deftly are wrapping your hands restlessly in the training room, ready to take out everything on the punching bag. It’s not often that you get restless on a flight; most of the time you know how to breathe and fight off the slight fear of heights that you still have. You’ve gotten better with them, but something about being in the plane so long feels claustrophobic, and it’s moments like this when it all happens. You’re able to push it off for as long as you can, but there’s something about just sitting around in your bunk that has your feeling worse and like you’re going to throw up.

So you do what you always know will clear your head and force it away; you go to train because something about getting lost in your repetitive patterns helps you be a robot and turn off the emotion. It’s refreshing, especially wen you’re fighting off the sickness in your stomach.

It’s a simple pattern; jab, kick, punch, repeat. It gets faster and harder each time, and you barely remember where you are as you keep your eyes on the dark bag. It’s refreshing in the way that the light is dim here, and it’s refreshing in the way that you know that no one is watching – there’s no pressure or something to be laughed at. You don’t have to be an agent; you can be a human, and that’s something that you need when very human distractions pop up and you’re not ready to handle them. Your leg comes up again, across your body, and you point your toes just as you hit the bag with your foot, bracing yourself for the impact. The bag sways but you’re still standing, perfectly balanced, and a small, proud smirk slips onto your face.

It’s not often that you spend time on your training, on actually getting one on one time in and assessing your own skills. You normally have a sparring partner and then you’re pointing out your own weaknesses because they’re hitting them and you need to sit there and assess where they are so that you can fix them. But right now, it’s all about yourself, and that’s all that you need.

A slow clapping startles you from your thoughts though, your fist coming up short as you turn your eyes toward the top level of the room. Ward’s leaning there with guarded eyes, leaning his forearms against the railing on the level. A slight smirk rests on his face and you raise your eyebrow at him in question. “Do you ever sleep?”

“Do you?” Quick footsteps make their way down the staircase and you straighten up, your breathing under control as you cross your arms. You’re not used to people interrupting, and Ward knows that; he’s interrupted you more times than anyone just because he  _can_. “I thought I told you if you needed to be taken down to come to me.”

“I don’t need that,” you scoff quietly, rolling your eyes. You send a swift right jab into the punching bag, but his hands hold it firmly in place, making your arm sting with the kickback of it. A quick hiss slipped through your clenched teeth and you stared at him. All that you were greeted with was that smirk that was so infuriatingly  _Ward_.

“Mm,” it was a noncommittal noise and you knew that; you knew his tones by now. He stepped around the punching bag, observing you for a moment, allowing his eyes to linger on your wrapped wrists. A ghost of a smile came across his features and you felt something twist in your chest; it was similar to what had twisted in your chest the one time you and Ward had been alone. “Unwrap your wrist. Lets go a few rounds.”

You eyed him but did as he said, discarding the tape off to the side of the mat and moving to get into position. Ward had a sharp jab in your left rib before you could and you let out a loud gasp of pain, your hand coming up to  press over the spot as you stumbled back. Your mouth opened to say  _what the fuck_ , but the words were forced out in a large rush of breath as his foot connected with your stomach. Your balance shifted again and Ward was throwing a right hook. You managed to dodge it by a second, stumbling on your feet before you ducked as he threw another and let your leg sweep out to knock his out from underneath him.

Ward just moved into a handspring, landing easily on his feet. Your hand came up in a hard left jab aimed for his face but his arm came up, blocking it as your foot came up and kicked off of his left hip hard. He let out a grunt and fell a few feet backwards but was already regaining his balance when he charged you. Your mind worked hard to keep up, a rhythm of blocking and dodging, trying not to get distracted by the fringe that was pressing down against his forehead, by the heavy breaths you were both sharing. The room felt too warm, too distracting now – your mind had the worst tendency to run when you were least expecting it.

A hard kick to your stomach had you yelping out in pain, landing hard on your back on the map. You lay there, breathing hard and staring wide eyed up at him as he grinned. He carefully straddled your hips, pressing hard down straight against the center of your body with his own. You let out a grunt, narrowing your eyes. “That was such a low move.”

“You weren’t focusing. What have I always told you about that?” His hands reached up and gripped your wrists, pinning them down easily as a soft hum rose up in his throat. You struggled for a moment, thinking this was part of it all, but the heel of his palm dug hard into you, making you still as you took the cue. Smiling a bit, Ward put more pressure down on your hips before he raised an eyebrow at you. “I thought you didn’t need this.”

“Maybe I’m planning a sneak attack and you’re falling right into my trap,” you challenged carefully, tugging at your wrists trapped in his much larger hands. He frowned and dug his palm in again, and you had to fight back the shiver that ran up your spine at the simple motion and pain that came with it.

“You’re not. You’re revved up and not sleeping. Too cramped in the plane?” His eyebrow raised at you once more and you rolled your eyes, going pliant under his touch again. It forced him to loosen up his grip on your waist with his legs, the pressure relieving a bit and nearly making a whine work its way up your throat.

You weren’t an easy type of person and neither was Ward. Ward did what he had to do, but he wasn’t someone that went around like this and you knew that somewhere in the back of your logical mind. This was all against protocol and it made you nervous, made you feel like you were losing your job, and you weren’t even  _sleeping_  with him. It was just something innocent, something between two friends, and you didn’t know why your brain couldn’t process that. The fact that you could get caught though, the fact that this was all against protocol, it made something in your stomach react to the situation. It was all too _intriguing_  and  _perfect_ , and his hands were  _tight_  around your wrists.

Ward raised an eyebrow at you again and then his face was getting closer, the swing of the momentum pushing the pressure up on your hips. You let out a careful breath, your eyes darting to his lips, his own breath bated. There was a predatory look in his eyes, one that had your breath catching in your chest and your eyes narrowing slightly. You were good at reading the other agents, much better than you should have been, and while you and Ward weren’t exactly open books, you still could read him as much as he’d let you. Today he was guarded, entirely too guarded, and a careful breath escaped your lips as his own came down against yours.

It was careful for a second before he was tugging at your bottom lip and your mouth was opening on your own accord, and his tongue was slipping in against yours. You could taste the mint on his breath and the after bite of alcohol, something that had your breath coming in sharp through your nose. Your mouth connected harder with his when he tried to pull away, and you struggled against his hands, desperate to reach up and grip the back of his neck, gaining some sort of control over all of it.

Ward smirked against your lips before he pulled back, easily keeping your hands tightly in one of his as he hiked your shirt up. Your eyes widened, watching as his eyes stayed on yours and his tongue trailed up the bruise on your stomach carefully before leaving a noisy suck. Your entire body shivered, the motion of it all making you want more, making you want  _better_  restraints, even if his were absolutely  _perfect_  and _grounding_.

“Ward…” his name comes out before you can stop it, breaking slightly and sounding breathy, and you mentally curse in your mind for how weak it sounds, even to you. You aren’t one that breaks easily; you’ve been kicked around and questioned so many times that it just hardened something inside of you. But this was different – this wasn’t asking for anything. This was just  _taking_.

His lips carefully pull away from your skin, his eyes never leaving yours, and then just like that he’s up and on his feet, heading toward the staircase. You stare from your spot against the mat, breathing heavily and quickly tugging your shirt down as he runs his fingers through his hair. It’s an action that you know is frustration, and he doesn’t look over his shoulder as he starts to head up the stairs, taking them by two.

“Go to bed,” is the only firm command you hear from him before he’s disappearing through the door, his foot steps gone and echoing.

You carefully sit up, feeling the pain in your body starting to set in but also the soft buzz from where his lips had been. Biting down on your lip, you push yourself onto your feet and ignore the pain; something’s telling you to and you obey it, letting your agent training kick into gear as you head up the stairs.

You catch Ward’s arm before he’s out of the living room and he rips it away from you, staring you down with the same gaze that you know he uses for interrogations.

“Why the hell did you freak out back there?” Your tone is careful, unsure, and quiet, knowing that not far away people are sleeping. Ward stares at you, his face blanking out, but then he pulls his arm out of his grip.

“You called me Ward. That’s not my name,” it was a stern tone that was taking you off guard, and you opened your mouth because what the  _fuck that is his name_  and that’s what everyone calls him. His eyes are steeled and he heads away, toward the kitchen, and this time you let him go. You don’t follow; that’s not what he wants and you know pushing is just going to break something – probably bones in both of your bodies.

Instead, you stared at the SHIELD logo on the screen of the living room, watching it memorized for a moment, processing the information. Everyone called him Ward. He literally went by  _Agent Ward_. You rarely heard anyone call him anything  _but_  that unless they were close.

Close like you  _and_  Ward were; that closeness came from training, over years of trust and missions that have gone wrong and that have gone right. Closeness like his SO Garrett who taught him everything  _he_  knew. To them he wasn’t Ward – he was  _Grant_. Ward was what SHIELD called him. Ward was what his badge said.

But  _Grant_  was what his name had been and what it would be. That was what separated human and machine.

And suddenly you felt like a fool and it all made sense why he had pulled away.

Taking you down was the difference between the hard agent and the human who had learned to deal with it all. When he was in those moments he wasn’t Agent Ward – he was Grant Douglas Ward, and there was a major difference. A difference that you hadn’t acknowledged.

In that moment you had been no better than the missions he slept with and May. You had him like an agent, not as the human part of him was vying to be.


	3. III.

The third time it happens is the time that completely changes everything.

If there’s one thing you absolutely hate fighting and being on missions for, it’s anything that has to do with Asgard. Unfortunately since everything happened with New York, that’s  _all_  the missions normally are. There’s alien artifacts strewed away everywhere, and it makes your head hurt just trying to memorize all of them. Everyone handles them with such care and you never get why; not everything is enchanted and most are just giant blocks of metal with blue light coming from them. There’s not that much damage that they can cause, and half of the time you think that Coulson is just being over cautious and listening to Fitz entirely too much. Science nerds never got anything; if they wanted to have say over it, they could go into the field alone and deal with it.

But right now is the time that you wish that you had listened to them, that you had protection against the broken pieces of a staff. It belonged to a berserker, and at first you hadn’t gotten it. So what, there was revolting youth everywhere claiming to be Gods. How bad could that really be? Obviously they had had something in their body that helped release that energy. They must have studied Asgard and known the tricks, or something like that. You weren’t even sure of what theory you could come up with, but you didn’t bother to after a while. Everything stopped making sense a long time ago when it came to Asgardian artifacts.

Revolting youth wasn’t something that was exactly new to the world; it was everywhere and wherever there was unrest a revolt was almost sure to happen. You didn’t really get why the artifact was something that was so important, other than the fact that it was alien technology. It wasn’t that you didn’t care; you just really were tired of cleaning up Asgardian messes. Thor caused them – why couldn’t he clean up his mess too?

That was before though.

That was before you were standing in the medical bay, watching Ward grow more and more frustrated. Jemma was running tests on him but all that was coming back was elevated heartbeat that went his anger. He was pacing now, and even though it was normal for Ward to not exactly be at rest with orders, he was starting to grow to that point of rage that you hadn’t seen before. Cool, calm, and collected was practically his motto, and watching him snap at the rest of the team had you staring at him in utter curiosity.  Fitz was beginning to look like he was about to make him a lab rat, but Ward was grabbing his shirt and out of the room in the flash; the tension echoed in the room, nearly climbing underneath your skin.

You followed him half on second nature, half on the fact that you were actually concerned. The plane was big, but it wasn’t big enough to lose him, and you could see his fists clenching around his henley as he rested against the counter. His jaw was ticked and his eyes were screwed shut, his breathing trying to shallow out and avoid showing weakness. Whatever was in that staff was much more powerful than you had presumed, and you shut the door to the room behind you.

At the noise, his eyes immediately opened, and for a brief moment you saw something hidden behind the normally calm eyes of Grant Ward; desperation. Whatever he had seen when he had touched the staff and felt the rage, it was something powerful, something that he couldn’t afford to show, and you could see his chest visibly tighten at the fact that you could read him.

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do in this situation; the agent in you isn’t trained to deal with an emotion like you’re seeing on Ward’s face, but the person that’s in you, the one that cares, wants to reach out and help him. You’ve known him for long enough to know that this isn’t normal for him, that missions don’t shake him up too much, but this one is getting underneath his skin so far you’re not sure if you can pull it out at the end of the day.

Ward makes the decision for you.

He takes two paces forward in his long strides, grabs your arms, and kisses you hard and long. It’s nothing open mouthed; it’s desperation to feel that there’s still something grounding him from his own head.

He pulls back only seconds later and his eyes are searching yours – your own confused and unsure – before he’s kissing you commandingly, his mouth prying yours open and pressing your back hard against the counter. You can’t breathe but vaguely that’s not important to you; his mouth is commanding and desperate, and he kisses with  _authority_  that you didn’t know that he had. It’s thorough, your hands moving up the planes of his chest to reach his shoulders before your fingers grip at the short black strands of hair at the nape of his neck. He lets out a noise into the kiss that you’ll later look back on and pride yourself for coaxing out of him. His hands are firm on your hips, his tongue searching every ounce of you like you hold the answer, and you let the involuntary moan slip up your throat, his hips slotting between your legs like it’s where he belongs.

Ward pulls back, breathing heavily, that same desperate look in his eyes, half begging you not to read him anymore, to tell him it’ll go away. You don’t know if it will; you don’t know if this anger will ever leave his body. You have no clue what the staff can even do; only the man in the interrogation room can give him those answers. Your fingers lightly scratch at the back of his neck, his eyes pressing close for a moment before they open again, no more in control than a moment before.

“Grant…”

It’s soft and pleading, begging him to let you know what you can do, because he’s the strongest on the team and he’s falling. But it’s more than that; you don’t want to see someone you call your closest friend fall off of the normal pedestal he held himself on and at the knees of a God. A ghost of a smile slips onto his features though and you raise your eyebrow a little, your knee bouncing slightly out of sheer nerves.

“What if I never come back?” Ward’s smile is off his face again now, his eyes slightly pleading and begging for you to have the answer again. There’s this moment where you see someone you haven’t seen before, not on his best aliases and not in the way he looks at others. He’s  _leaning_  on you, desperate to know answers that you don’t even have clearance to.

“Then we get you some really good and calming yoga classes.” it’s a weak effort, a short quip, but an actual laugh escapes his mouth and he nods a bit. It’s not one that’s happy, it’s not one that’s accepting, but it’s one that’s processing. You reach forward and run your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe away the demons being brought to the surface. “What did it show you? What caused the rage?”

Your eyes are searching his body but Ward just stiffens and pulls away, painfully aware of the look on his face; it’s a look that wants to hide away from it all and run. He just shakes his head and pulls his shirt back over it next, the henley hugging his waist comfortably before he exhales slowly. “I’m going to go get answers. Maybe we can unlock some ancient Asgardian secret.”

You nod your head and let him go, biting your lip slightly and breathing in carefully. There was nothing but resolution in his tone, and you’re not sure if it’s a good thing in the state of mind he’s in. But you have to let him do what he has to do, because that’s how Ward is, and it’s not your place to stop him. You just turn your back and head back to the lab, helping Fitz once more while keeping your eyes carefully on the broadcast of the interrogation.

* * *

It’s well past midnight when you hear footsteps finally heading down the hall of the hotel and approaching the room. Your back’s leaning against the wall and your eyes are carefully guarded, not sure what you’re going to be coming face to face with. Ward comes around the corner and stares at you for a moment, pausing his strides, before he moves forward once more. He barely spares you another look as he fishes his card out and sends it through the lock, and then he’s opening the door.

You don’t move off the wall; you aren’t going to force your way in, not after what you seen during the battle. You don’t have the nerve to because you’ve never seen him like that before; that vulnerable and ready to just give it all away because it’s just  _too much_. Ward looks up at you, his eyes searching your face, and a defeated look crosses his features before he nods his head towards the room and heads in. You follow quietly, shutting the door with your foot and letting the quiet atmosphere of the hotel room seep into your senses.

It’s rare that you get to actually stay in a hotel, and part of you just wants to take advantage of the comfortable bed and the comfortable pillows. Your body aches everywhere from the fight, but you don’t have time for it, not now.

Ward sits on the bed and stares up at you, swallowing hard and smelling of whiskey. You bite down on your lip for a moment before you watch a slight laugh escape from his lips. “Fuck this.”

You raise your eyebrow, but before you can even ask, Ward’s pulling out a small loop of rope from his back pocket. It’s thin and you know it’s going to be rough, sharp, and your chest tightens a little. He’s never gone for a pain factor before, and for some reason after the day you’ve all had, you actually  _want_  it.

“This isn’t for you, you know.” Ward’s voice draws you out of your mind and you raise an eyebrow as you realize that he has it extended out for you to take. You carefully do so, watching him before he lays back and pushes his arms up over his head, crossing his hands at the wrists.

“You want me to…” You trail off for a minute, staring at Ward a bit in disbelief. You don’t even know how to _do_  this. It makes your stomach twist in nerves; he’s already damaged mentally enough for the day and this is the way he needs to come down. But you can do more damage if you don’t do it right, and you thought you’d have more time to prepare for something like this.

“I didn’t give you it for no reason. So come on.” His voice isn’t rushing you; it’s patient and a little bit amused, and you vaguely think that has something to do with the whiskey in his system. But you’ll take it, because right now  _you_  wish you had some whiskey to push this all away and be more comfortable.

Shaking your head, you push yourself out of it and walk to the edge of the bed, where you carefully start to twist the rope around Ward’s wrists. Your knees are digging uncomfortably into the sheets and you’re biting at your lip as you work. Ward’s better at this than you are, knows how to tie all the right knots, but you have no idea if you’re doing it right. You just go with the flow though and tie them tighter, watching the red marks already forming on his wrists.

A small noise escapes his lips and you glance down, noticing the way his eyes are shut and he’s gone completely pliant underneath the bonds. “Too tight Grant?”

“Perfect,” he mumbles back and stretches his legs a bit, letting them dangle off the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. You can see him untensing, can see his muscles finally starting to relax, and whatever rage is still in his system is hiding deep down. Ward’s coming back into himself in these moments, and while you’re still not sure if you’re doing it right, it fascinates you to see the soldier bringing himself back to a human alertness. Ward isn’t known for that and really you can’t blame him from keeping his secrets. But watching his body relax, watching all the worry lines fade away and his neck crane up slightly so that his jaw is pointing up towards his wrist has your mind working in overdrive.

His nose turns and nudges into his bicep, a slow breath escaping his lips as he lets himself go. It’s not like you; he can relax quicker and bring himself down quicker – which is something he’s always telling you to do. You never know how to get out of the head space you have normally and to the one that he gladly pushes you into. Your mind doesn’t know when to calm down; you only know how to keep going, to keep fabricating scenarios. But Ward is turning it off quicker than you could’ve imagined and it’s almost breathtaking to see the calm look coming over his features.

You’ve known Ward since you had turned eighteen. He was your SO and he had taught you everything that you knew. But this side of Ward? This was a side that you never even dreamed of seeing. It made something in you anxious but at ease at the exact same time. It wasn’t natural for a soldier who was as well built as he was to just be able to disconnect so easily. But Ward could, and if you were honest with yourself, it was actually pretty  _beautiful_  to say the least.

“I can feel you staring at me,” he murmurs, a smile cracking onto his features as you let out a soft snort. You watch as he tugs at the restraints for a moment, letting out a soft hiss that sounds more pleased than in pain.

“What can I say? I’ve waited years to have you at my mercy.” Your fingers move up, skirting along the bonds that are leaving a rapidly deep rope mark in Ward’s wrists. It makes you nervous, makes you feel like you did it wrong, because you’re never left with those when Ward takes you down. But you realize that Ward is going harder; he spares you for the factor that he knows you’re just starting out.

Ward lets out a loud laugh and you can feel a slight smile tugging at the edge of your lips when you realize how much you’ve missed his carefree laugh. You haven’t heard it in years, and under the circumstances, you can’t exactly blame him. “This isn’t the first time you have. And don’t say it’s a moment of attack that you’re waiting for. I’m not stupid, I know what that look is.”

Your blood runs icy for a minute and you bite down into your lip. Your fingers fidget in your lap, unsure and feeling utterly exposed as Ward opens both eyes and gauges your reaction. It was something that you never admitted out right, something that you chose not to actually say for the fact that you were agents – you didn’t let things like emotions and feelings get in your way, especially for each other. Plus, this was _Ward_  you were talking about; he didn’t get attached. Attachments were weaknesses, and as much as he had always tried to teach you that, the biggest part of you  _was attached to him_.

Ward looks contemplative for a minute, his eyes running along your form. You shift a bit uncomfortably and move to get off of the bed; you’re starting to feel the panic trembling through your chest and you feel like a caged bird. This is what you’ve wanted since day one, since the moment you got close to Ward. But it actually happening? That was something that just was never to happen; you’d both wind up regretting it. It sent a nervous tremble into your skin and you ran your fingers through your hair. “I should probably go.”

“You’re freaking out again.” In one swift move, Ward was sitting up and watching you carefully. His arms rested in front of him, hands in his lap as you swallowed thickly. Curiosity was in his features and then a slow smirk slipped onto his features. “You’re afraid of this.”

“You’re not the attachment type,” you quickly answer back, your arms crossing in front of your chest. Ward’s eyes slip up you again before that smirk comes back, and he’s rising to his feet. You take a step back and he raises an eyebrow before stepping forward again, pleased when you stay put.

Leaning forward, Ward gets in your personal space, looking down at you as you swallow thickly and try to keep yourself in check. You bite down on your lip and look up at him through your lashes, ready to book if the first sign tells you you can.

“Why don’t you untie me and I’ll show you just how attached I can get?” His voice is a seductive purr, low and full of promises, and your fingers are reaching out for the rope before you realize what you’re doing. Once you do, you hesitate for a minute, unsure if this is a line you want to cross. It’s not too late to just head back to your hotel room and pretend none of this happened. You could do that, right? “Let go. You know you want to. You know you’re tired of being the good girl agent you’re pretending to be.”

Ward’s looking down at you, closer now and his lips closer to your own. You know it’d only take a push of your knees and your lips would be pressed together, but your fingers are trembling against the rope. His words keep slipping through your mind, over and over again like the highest drug out there, and you give in.

Your fingers deftly untie the rope as Ward’s lips come down hard against yours, his tongue instantly slipping into your mouth and a moan escaping your throat. It’s all warm and he’s full of authority, working his tongue over yours before sucking at your bottom lip and a shiver runs up your spine. You’re letting out soft noises, his teeth latching onto your lip and tugging it with a grin as his hands fall free and you let the rope fall to the floor. His fingers grip your hips and pull you up in one swift motion, and you take the hint, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly. A soft moan escapes his own lips and his tongue slips back into your mouth before the air is knocked out of your lungs as your back collides with the wall.

There’s a minute when you think that this is the wrong choice, but then Ward’s mouth is moving to your neck, sucking warm, wet open mouthed kisses there and you have no idea what you were thinking. Your fingers drag through his brunette hair and you let out a loud moan, your hips arching against his without trying. His own press yours back against the wall hard, a slow grind making a moan escape his own lips as he bites down on the juncture of your neck. A gasp slips from your lips and you tug at his hair hard, pulling him back and kissing him for everything he’s worth.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he growls out between kisses, his fingers going to the hem of your shirt. You pull back and stare at him, lifting your arms obediently. Your shirt is on the ground in seconds and his mouth is attaching to the top of your breast, his fingers running along the edges of your bra as you pull in a sharp breath. Ward merely smirks against your skin before tugging at it with his teeth, pulling out a moan from you and leaving a mark that’s going to tell everyone where you’ve been and who you’ve been with. There’s something purely animalistic about it that makes a coil tighten in your stomach.

Ward pulls you from the wall and you let out a giggle, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to keep your balance. A smile slips onto Ward’s face as well, and your hands are cupping his jaw again before you bring your lips back together. It’s searing and filled with an emotion that you can’t place, but you know this time there’s no turning back. There can’t be – unless Ward pulls away and walks out that door, that’s the only way you’re stopping.

He lets you down onto the bed and your fingers are immediately reaching out, tugging his shirt up and over his head before he’s on top of you again, lips searing against yours and your fingers working their way down over his chest, tracing each and every muscle to commit it to memory. You’ve seen them before, felt them before, but never like this. You never felt the sharp contraction in his abs and stomach as you move your fingers along the dark patch of hair that disappears underneath the waistband of his jeans. You never felt the way that his chest tightens when your thumb runs along a nipple and lets him feel a jolt of pleasure.

Ward pulls away carefully and he stares down at you for a minute, his breath coming in sharp pants and your own heavy as your fingers halt their mapping. They move back to his shoulders and Ward practically keens at the contact; his mind is fighting him again and you’re almost positive that you’re going to hunt him down if he even thinks of moving away, of stopping what he’s started because you already feel like you’re going to explode.

“How long have you wanted this?” His voice is deeper than normal, riddled with lust as his fingers start to undo the button of your jeans. You swallow hard as his eyes watch his path as he pulls them free from your legs, a soft groan slipping from his lips. His fingers are rubbing soft circles against your hips but it’s putting enough pressure in certain spots that have them jolting and your stomach tightening.

“Since we started getting close,” you manage to moan out, hands reaching up to grip at the headboard for a minute. You need something to ground you, anything that isn’t Grant Douglas Ward, and you let out a sharp breath as he bends down and lets his tongue drag up over your bruise again. For a minute your mind fights against the pain; it’s a dark purple color now, healing from the trailing and his keen kicks. You let out a whimper as he leaves slow sucks up along it, ending just at the edge of your bra as your fingers grip at his hair, fingers trembling.

Ward’s fingers give your sides a firm squeeze, and then your bra is being unhooked and across the room to join his shirt, and his own mouth latches onto one of your nipples, giving it a firm suck before running his tongue around it and letting out a slight moan. Your body trembles and your fingers dig at his back, your knees pressing up against his sides as he slots himself between your legs. He doesn’t stay on it for long – he drags his tongue up your neck and kisses you thoroughly again, his hips grinding against yours, the denim against the thin fabric of your panties driving you crazy.

It’s a soft whimper of  _Grant, Grant_ _ **god**_ _please_  for a minute and he’s grinning against your lips, letting his zipper rut up against your clit and knowing damn well what he’s doing. You break the kiss, breathing heavily and your back arching slightly, desperate for the contact because it’s not enough but at the same time it’s just enough and he lets his fingers run along your throat for a moment before he stops, a frustrated groan leaving your lips. “What the  _fuck_.”

“You were close to coming,” he murmurs with a grin, tugging at your bottom lip once more before pushing back and undoing his jeans. His eyes are dark as they slip over you, watching your body rise and fall with each breath before his eyes hone in on your hips for a moment. “The only way you’re coming is when I’m in you. Understood?”

You nod your head quickly and he kicks his jeans off, his fingers hooking in your panties before tugging them down. Swallowing hard, you feel a moment of complete exposure before it’s chased away as Ward’s fingers run along your core, collecting the wetness there on his fingers, a soft moan escaping his lips. His eyes easily lock on yours as he rubs your clit slowly for a moment before easing two fingers into you, the stretch burning and hurting faintly but it feels  _amazing_  and you never want him to stop. His opposite hand slips to your lower stomach, pressing down firmly as he curls his fingers and rubs against that spot that makes you cry out, fisting at the sheets and trying to remember what it’s like to breathe.

“That’s it, feel nice and full?” His voice is a seductive purr again and you swallow hard, begging him because  _fucking hell Grant it’s not enough let me come_  and he’s hitting your spot harder and harder and putting more pressure on your stomach and it’s like you just can’t  _take it_  and you  _need it_  and then you’re empty again. Ward merely grins at you and grips at the sheets as he moves over you again, kissing you harshly and your hand grips the back of his neck, feeling the need to be as close as you can be in that moment.

It makes your head spin, feeling his body up against yours, his boxers discarded as well in the fray as you breathe harshly through your nose. It’s all a mix of whiskey, Ward’s cologne, and the warm scent of sex that’s starting to cover you two. It’s making your mind go crazy and your lips are pressing together more urgently now, both of you tired of the teasing and grinding and just needing something so much  _more_.

“Pill?”

“Pill, shut up and get in me.”

Ward lets out a loud laugh at that and stiffles it in your neck a he grips his cock. You let out a slow breath and swallow hard, watching as he carefully presses the tip of it into you before pushing in slowly, letting you feel each inch of him as your eyes slip shut. It feels like too much and it stings a little, but your mind registers it as nothing but  _perfect_  and it’s making everything in the room  _spin_. Your walls clench desperately around him, your moans going in sync for a moment before he laughs at the fact that you’re both  _this_  far gone.

His fingers grip at the sheets as he thrusts slow and steady, a small groan leaving your lips because  _Grant I swear I’m going to punch you in the balls if you don’t hurry up,_  and Ward is laughing into your shoulder. It’s such a carefree and blissed out sound and you want to remember it because you know Ward never laughs like that. He’s always weighed down by his demons and you want him to get away from them, to finally out run them if it means that that noise comes out of his mouth.

His hips start to move faster and harder, his fingers moving up your wrists to grip your own, pinning them down to the mattress as your hips rock unevenly against yours. A small whimper escapes your lips and you arch your back, your clit dragging against him as he starts to move faster and with more purpose, tired of dragging this out because  _shit you’re tight hold still I’m trying to_ _ **fuck**_ _you here you know_. Your fingers are digging into the backs of his and his hips are hitting yours hard enough that you know that you’re going to bruise but it all feels too good, feels too amazing, and you can feel your stomach tightening because  _shit, shit Grant please, please you’re so good_.

You feel it all rushing up before you can stop it and you’re gasping loudly, moaning out his name as you hit that high and fall off the edge, feeling yourself clenching around him as you release, desperate to keep him close to you. Ward lasts a few more thrusts before he’s falling apart above you, teeth digging into his lip to stiffle his cries as he does, the warm heat of him spilling into you as you feel a shiver run along your entire body.

Both of you are silent for a long moment, both of you just breathing hard and feeling the sticky seconds of your bodies together as you try to find your breath. His fingers are slowly letting up on yours and he ducks down, kissing you slower this time, more trusting but still thorough, and then he lets your hands go. He pulls back and pecks your temple quickly, the gesture making a dazed out smile slip onto your features. It’s part of the hormones and you know that, but you’ll let yourself go because you  _need_  to.

Ward carefully pulls out and lets out a soft groan as he watches the mixture of both of you slip onto the mattress sheets below your legs. You let out a slight laugh and go to move, but his hand squeezes your thigh and you allow yourself to still. He comes back from the bathroom a few minutes later with a towel and hands it over, and you carefully clean up before unsurely standing and moving to grab your clothes.

A hand shoots out and grabs your wrist, and you look over your shoulder at the dark eyes of Grant Ward, something hidden beneath them. It’s a silent look that you know all too well when his demons start to catch up with him; something that you can both communicate with through your eyes.

_I don’t want to be alone._

_I’m not going to leave you alone._


	4. IV.

The fourth time it happens, you’re not sure that you’re ready for it.

It makes everything in your body set off adrenaline indicators and you’re breathing harshly through your nose, trying to calm them down. It’s not working well and you know it, but you can’t bring yourself to stop trying. It’s your last line of defense and you try to make your smile the most convincing you can in the mirror. It seems too broken around the edges, too fragile, and part of you thinks it’ll at least work in your favor. If you don’t have the vantage point, you can blow everything you’ve ever worked for, and it makes your breath come out in a shaky line. The false smile drops from your face and you try to remind yourself that everything is okay, that your head isn’t as shaky as it feels, that you can still breathe.

It’s hard to do and your chest feels uneven, like it’s been cut into and everything’s falling out, but you manage to pull in the slow breathes. You need to do it, anyway, and you let out a soft breath, calming the nerves that are biting at your frayed edges of nerves in your skin.

Foot steps sound down the hall and your head quickly shoots up, your eyes honing in on the door as you steady your breath once more, pushing the safety off on your gun as you stand. You move forward cautiously, letting out a careful breath once more as you press your back against the wall next to the door. You have cover, but not for long, and you steady your hands, ready to pull the trigger if you need to.

An agent steps through the door, his own gun drawn, and your elbow connects hard with his face. It only serves to knock him back a foot or two as he’s wearing a helmet, but you take the opportunity to connect your foot hard with his kneecap. It brings him down for a second but he’s catching up to the situation – he kicks his foot out and knocks you off balance and you stumble, falling hard against the small night stand and wincing. Everything tints black around the edges for a second, but it pushes back quickly as your adrenaline kicks in.

You kick out hard and connect with his stomach, sending him back before you grab your gun and shoot, aiming it right towards his leg before aiming for his shoulders. They aren’t lethal hits, but it’s enough to have him curling up and moaning in pain, and you take your opportunity. You step over him and make your way down the hall, looking over your shoulder as you hear more footsteps.

It’s too much and you can feel your adrenaline spiking again, but you push it back and will your body to walk faster. You turn the corner just before the heavy pairs of boots do, and you’re moving faster now. There’s urgency in your steps and you pull in careful breaths, trying to ignore the bubbling anxiety and the shaking in your hands that’ll threaten a shot. This isn’t how you were taught to behave, and you shut your eyes momentarily while moving. It gives you a moment of vertigo but you ignore it, kicking in the door to your left and biting down on your lip.

The room is full of the computers that were promised, and a small smirk slips onto your features. You set your small bag on the table next to the keyboard, and bring up the screen. You enter your credentials and wait for it to be verified, digging in your bag for the flash drive. Grabbing it with ease, you enter into SHIELD’s mainframe, your eyes scanning across the expanse of it all and then down to the small drive in your hand.

“I’m going to need a way bigger one for all of this,” you mumble quietly to yourself, then bring up the reports on the agents that you know you’ll need. Once they’re brought up, you plug in and begin the transfer, your fingers tapping against the counter anxiously as your eyes glance towards the door every few seconds. The data transfers quicker than you thought it would, and you pull up intel on weapons before beginning to transfer those as well.

You catch a shadow in the doorway, and you grab your gun. You click the safety off and push it in front of you in one quick move while the door opens. The man slips inside quickly and slams the lock down behind him. He takes a few steps forward and lightly knocks your gun down with his hand, rolling his eyes.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” you comment, throwing your gun onto the table carelessly. Ward regards you for a minute before looking over your shoulder at the progress bar. “I was a little preoccupied with not dying.”

You raise an eyebrow but then get a good look at him through the dim computer lights. He’s got cuts and bruises all along his face and his Kevlar vest looks a little worse for wear. There’s blood across his knuckles and you can see the traces of gun powder on his legs. There’s also a split lip that is standing out like a sore thumb, and a small laugh leaves your lips before you can stop it. He sends you a sharp look and you shrug your shoulders.

“How’d you get in the mess? I thought the plan was pretty simple?” Your eyebrow arches a bit and Ward lets out a harsh laugh, digging through your bag and frowning a bit. He doesn’t say how he got any of it, but you don’t press. Ward’s like that, and you’ve got your own problems to worry about, anyway.

“You’re going to fit all the intel on that little drive?” It’s a quick change in the subjects and you frown, turning back towards the computer. The data bar is at the end and you check the space on the drive, shaking your head and running your fingers through your hair.

“No. I don’t know what the hell he was thinking when he got this small ass thing.” A bigger drive appears in front of your face and you raise your eyebrow as you recognize Ward’s watch.

“That’s why he sent me with this one,” a small smirk is in his voice and you roll your eyes, grabbing it from him and switching the drives. You begin to download anything that looks remotely useful, his mental checklist marking itself down in your head. “How are you holding up?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that question, Grant.” You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and a small smile slips onto his features. He shakes his head and turns you around, pressing your lower back hard into the table as you look at him curiously. “I can feel you shaking. You’re vibrating like a time bomb.”

“It’s not like any of this isn’t nerve wrecking,” you protest and he nods his head a bit in agreement. His hands move down and grip your wrists hard and a small smirk slips onto your features. “Here? You’re shameless, Grant.”

Ward lets out an unamused laugh but he squeezes your wrists. A soft hiss slips through your lips and you swallow hard, looking up at him through your lashes. Smirking, Ward’s lips quickly move down to press against your own. You let out a soft pleased sound, letting yourself lean into it and forget about the transfer behind you. A small noise slips up your throat as he coaxes your mouth open, and you’re pretty sure that he’ll be the death of you on a mission.

The scent of gun powder, blood, sweat, and cologne fill your senses. Your entire body shivers as you let it take over you for the moment. Your mind goes back to that night back in Vegas, back when hotels were an option and when  _Grant_  was an option. But it’s all business here and the fact that he’s attempting to take you down means that this is serious. You block it out for a moment; you’re lost in the soft pry of Ward’s lips against yours and the aching feeling in your stomach at being so close to the agent again. Everything’s okay and you’re not on a mission; you’re in this weird sense of being where it’s just the whirring of technology and the soft pry of his warmth against your cold arms. It’s this weird type of head space and universe he starts to put you in every time this happens.

There’s something different in the kiss this time; Ward is kissing you with a pressured force that you aren’t sure ever existed before. Not in the middle of passion and never on a mission before, at least. It’s like there’s some event that he’s not sure of that’s going to happen, that this is the last time you two are going to  _do_  this. It’s the fleeting feeling of teenagers about to get caught, and an exhilaration of adrenaline runs through your body for a moment. You want to push him back against the table, to kiss him again, to take you both down and forget about the mission, about the allegiance.

You could run away from it all. You could just become another person in the crowd. Ward’s erased his identity before, he could easily do it again. This mission would mean nothing. It would never have to be finished. Let them come for both of you – they’d never catch up.

But a sickening feeling slips up through your stomach about how much is actually at stake here with you and him, and you kiss him harder, more demanding, ignoring the soft pained hiss that escapes his throat. The thought of this not happening again, of that familiar hold on you has your head spinning for a minute. It’s a harsh reality that both of you wanted to face – this was your  _mission_. For a minute, you don’t think you can come down from this all; it’s all spinning in your head and pumping in your veins. There’s that anger and that undeniable adrenaline, and you don’t know how you wound up in this situation. It makes you sick to your stomach and your head aches and something in your chest aches. It’s all too much and not enough all at once.

Then there’s Ward, grabbing your wrists tighter and making your back dig into the table and you gasp, closing your eyes tightly. Ward’s mouth is on yours again and his thumb is soothing at the spot it’s at on your wrists, and you feel everything have a gravitational pull towards him. It makes everything slow down and your breathing goes normal, and Ward’s smirking against your lips before he pulls back. His forehead comes down heavily against yours and he lets out a slow breath.

“Stop thinking about it. We agreed to this, we can’t turn back.” His eyes bore into yours and you let out a careful breath, nodding once quickly. A small smile slips onto his face and he knows you won’t stop thinking about it, but it’s okay. You’re going to be fine and so is he and the mission will go off without a hitch. His lips come in contact with your head quickly before he pulls back, and your wrists feel cold and uncomfortable without the warmth of Ward around you.

Shaking your head a bit, you look over and notice that the transfer is finished. You pull the drive free and shut the computer off, turning back to face Ward. You grab the second drive and slip them underneath his Kevlar and into a hidden compartment, tapping it once for good measure with your hand. “Keep it safe and stick to the plan. Garrett will kill us if those don’t get to him in one piece. Don’t play a hero, got it?”

Ward smirks before leaning back in for a quick kiss. “I have no other option than to stick to the plan. Breathe and stay safe, okay? Don’t blow this. We’ve worked too hard for it.”

You nod your head and tap the compartment once more before grabbing your bag and gun from the table. His eyes roam your body for a moment before he nods slightly and heads out the door. You count to sixty in your head, then follow in his footsteps, heading back the opposite way.


	5. V.

The fifth time occurs after it’s been months in hiding.

HYDRA taking over, SHIELD falling, Ward being captured, Garrett dying – it’s all too much for you. You’re smart enough to get out before they find you; that’s the only good point about it all. The ratty ass building where you’ve holed yourself up? That’s not a good point. Still running from agents of HYDRA who know your face and your connections to both Grant Ward and John Garrett aren’t the high points either. You can’t count how many times you’ve had to burn bridges and identities, and that was only in the first month after the downfall. SHIELD is as adamant as ever and now you’re a labeled traitor, and they want you even more than before. Whether it’s the government that wants you or if it’s really SHIELD wanting you to pay for what you’ve done with the scheme, you don’t know, and honestly you don’t want to find out.

If there’s one thing that you’re not used to, it’s being on your own. You never even had a solo mission before, and this all feels entirely too suffocating. It feels like you’re a rat on the run and for a minute you have that thought of turning yourself in, to getting it over with and just being around people again because the rats that live in the buildings aren’t much of friends. They don’t talk, but they don’t judge either, so maybe that’s the best option. SHIELD will judge you. SHIELD will punish you. SHIELD might even turn you over to HYDRA to punish you, and that sends an ounce of fear down your spine.

Not much scares you, but being in the grips of the organization isn’t something you want to be. You remembered Garrett entirely too clear, remembered all the off night training sessions that still have you rubbing your arm subconsciously where a bone had been broken. You were never loyal to HYDRA; you would never pledge your loyalty to an organization like that. You were loyal to a  _person_  who never wanted you  _in_  this whole mess in the first place. But you had already made your mind up, and it was your fault. You would take that one on yourself, because honestly that was what it was.

You were weak; you had the biggest weakness of all and Garrett knew that. He exploited that. You admired it, really, that he had seen that connection between you and Ward the moment that you were recruited. It was why he had made Ward your SO. You had every opportunity to walk away, to stop, to go underground and cut the power before everyone threw themselves at one another and the world went to hell.

But you hadn’t. You had stayed loyal.

It ate at you, your fingers working frantically against your keyboard as you tried to hone in on a location. You could only operate on limited internet access, especially when it came to making sure that no one could trace you. You were no Skye; you weren’t a hacker. That was never what you were trained for. She was though, and if Coulson had her trying to find you, she would if you gave her the right time frame. You tried desperately to get the location locked in, day after day, days that turned to weeks, and weeks that turned to months.

Loyalty was wearing thin, but your brain wouldn’t let you stop. If one went down, the other got them out. That was always the plan. That was always what Garrett had said. Ward was the asset, the one who could bring them all to their knees – and it was always your job if you ran to break him free.

It didn’t happen for the first month, or the second, or the third, or even the fourth.

It happened the fifth month in the dingy building, SHIELD finally slipping up. Whether or not the signal that was clear as day was a trap or a pure mistake you couldn’t be sure. But you locked onto it, took down the coordinates, and prepared yourself to leave. It would have to revolve around a mission, when Coulson would be gone and a majority of the team would be as well, only leaving jokes of agents behind.

It took another month of planning and checking the tracker and it never once moved. You caught wind of a mission from a contact of yours, and you put your plan into play. There was nothing else but the mission. It was your first mission in months and it surprised you how much you were buzzing, practically itching for a fight.

You  _needed_  this to ground yourself, to prove that you could go through with your orders. Garrett had always said that was where you had been the weakest, and it was your opportunity to prove it all wrong.

Your footsteps are silent against the ground as you move, ducking behind walls and observing as you watch agents move around. He has a full arsenal still, but from what you can tell, they’re more than likely trainees or ones just joining his version of SHIELD. You don’t count many, and you know this is just the beginning. Once you move through the first hallway it’s going to get dirty, and part of you can’t  _wait._

They have icers, but you have  _bullets_.

Moving out from behind the wall, you calmly begin to walk up through the hallway, your eyes keen and waiting for danger but keeping the calm agent persona that you’ve learned so well. It lasts for about five minutes and you’re halfway through when you’re stopped by a rough hand on your arm, turning you around.

Raising your eyebrow, you stare at the girl in front of you who’s a little shorter and looks unamused by your presence. “Can I see your lanyard? Everyone is required to have them to be here or to have clearance.”

“My lanyard, of course…” You refrain from scoffing into your shoulder as you make a show of looking for it. Really, this is what Coulson and his team have retreated themselves into? Hamsters who need identification in the form of that of a school student? What had happened to the badges? The pride? Shaking your head to yourself, you let out a slight laugh. “Shoot, must’ve left it home.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed at you and her hand reached down for her hip immediately. You raised your hands, a slight smile on your face. “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble. You have something of mine and I want it back. Simple as that.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” the agent remarks and pulls out her gun. You raise your eyebrow once more before rolling your eyes. Really, were they all uptight now and didn’t bother with negotiation?

“Hard way it is,” you comment before kicking your leg out quickly and landing it straight to her stomach, taking her off guard. You’re on her in seconds, straddling her hips and grabbing the gun, pointing it straight for her face as you raise your eyebrow. “Just tell me where Ward is sweetheart and we can put this all behind us.”

“You’ll never get your hands on him. He’s as good as dead. There’s a special place in hell for you traitors.” She spits out, her hand reaching out and punching your wrist hard, sending the gun flying and skittering down the hallway. You hiss before landing a punch of your own against her face, her body using the momentum to throw you onto your back. Gasping out, you try to catch your breath, but her boots landing hard in your stomach and you’re coughing hard.

Your foot strikes out at her ankle and your fist comes up into her stomach again. You grab her by the back of her hair, yanking her face down hard as your knee collides with it. She goes limp in your hold and you let her fall to the floor, rubbing at the tender spot on your wrist. You know it’ll bruise over soon; your foot lashes out at her stomach once more for good measure.

Walking over to the gun, you push it into the waistband of your pants before looking down at the unconscious agent. A curious look comes over your face before you stoop down, snagging the glinting holographic material underneath her jacket. Holding up the lanyard for a moment, you admire it.

A slight smirk slips onto your features, “Guess I have one now, huh?”

* * *

By the time you reach the containment floor where Ward’s being held, you’re bruised, bloody, running out of bullets, and your left wrist is dislocated. The door slams shut behind you and you lean against the cold wall for a minute, the dark light heaven to your senses after being through so much. You’re breathing shallowly, trying to regain everything and force your body to work through it. One thing you hadn’t counted on was Coulson having so many highly trained agents. You counted on trainees – these most certainly  _weren’t_  trainees and Ward most certainly  _wasn’t_  someone they wanted out of their sights.

Swallowing thickly, you ran your good wrist along your nose, frowning as it came back with blood streaked against your skin. You pulled in a careful breath, gathering your head. You only had so much time to execute this and get out of there; there wasn’t time to really catch your breath and assess your injuries. You can do that when you’re at a safe spot.

You let out a sharp groan of pain as you push away from the wall, heading down the stairs and feeling it throughout your body. Swallowing thickly, you feel like nothing you is prepared to meet the sight in front of you as Ward stares at you from behind the wall keeping him trapped inside in bewilderment.

“What, no hello?” You bite out, trying to keep your tone light, but your head is spinning slightly. You’ve taken one too many again, and you shake it a bit to clear your vision. Ward tracks your every movement, then lets out a soft laugh as he stares at you, walking closer to the barrier.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” His tone is light and teasing, but your glare that you send him back is enough to have a slight smirk slipping onto his features. Your hand carefully begins to work over the control pad, your left loosely curled close to your chest as you let out a slow, shaky breath. “You look like you’ve fought off an army.”

“Have you seen who they’re training here?” You raise your eyebrow at him for a moment and Ward lets out a slight chuckle.

“You’ve got your own army, or did you forget that?” Leaning back against the wall he observes you, watching as your fingers move against the electronic pad with concentration and the wall flickers for a minute before it locks in place again. You’ve broken in though, and Ward knows it won’t be long until he’s out of the electronic prison.

“HYDRA? Yeah, no thanks. This was a solo mission.” The pad beeps twice and the barrier comes down, a small look of relief slipping over your features. Ward’s eyes widen a bit as he steps onto the line that has encased him for so long.

“You came here on your own?” His voice has that same tone that you know means he’s reprimanding you, and you swallow thickly. The disappointment sinks into your skin but you try to push it away. Now’s not a time for hurt feelings; now’s a time for reconciliation and getting him out of there.

Your eyes slip down, looking at the ugly scars marring his wrists and you swallow hard. Ward’s wrist flex for a moment and you can’t take your eyes off of them; they hold so many stories that you’re not ready to hear, and in that moment you feel the real situation slam all around you. It’s entirely too much, and you know you’re not ready for any of this, that you’ve compromised yourself and Ward’s tried to  _kill_ himself because you couldn’t follow protocol soon enough. “You can stop staring, you know. It was an attempt, it didn’t work, we can move on from it.”

You open your mouth to say something, but his lips are on yours, hard and commanding, and you feel everything all away for a minute. There’s no mission; it’s just this thankfulness that seeps through your skin because it’s been so long and now it’s just  _here_  again. His fingers are digging into your hips and you want to yelp because there’s so much bruising but you don’t let a sound escape. You just press tighter to his body and Ward reaches up to grab for your wrists. You try to keep your left one away but he grabs it anyway and bites down roughly on your lip as it snaps back into place. You cry out, feeling the jolting, nauseating pain slip up your system and into your chest.

His lips come down on yours again, fast and hard, desperate for the touch of something that’s not SHIELD and you let out a small whine in the back of your throat because it all just feels right and good. His tongue is tracing your lip, soothing where his teeth had bit in and along your split lip, and you try to keep yourself from keening as you feel the adrenaline rush through your tired veins. There’s a breath and then he’s carefully walking you backward. You let him; you feel the cot he’s had to sleep on for so long hit the back of your knees and you break the kiss, looking at him curiously as his own eyes search your own. He gives your shoulders a firm shove and you go down easily, listening to him without second guessing him because _that’s what you were taught to do._

Ward’s mouth follows yours and you’re so lost because it all just feels amazing and right and it’s everything you need. It’s comforting and warm and part of you wants to cry because the ache isn’t just from your injuries anymore. It’s aching because you’ve won; you’ve followed protocol and his lips are insistent and loving against your own and it feels like something straight out of a  _spy movie_  and  _fuck are you James Bond now?_  You almost want to laugh but then you feel your wrists being eased under you to keep constant pressure and it  _fucking hurts_  and you’re still tender but you say nothing because it feels so  _right_.

“Breathe deep for me, there you go…” his voice is quiet, a soft little plea and you breathe deep, letting your eyes stay closed and your body center. You feel the blinding static start to fill your body and your ears because it’s just what you  _need_. The injuries feel like nothing; it makes you weightless and you don’t release until your chest is feeling like it’s going to explode and you come back to your senses.

Ward isn’t there.

You hear a spark of electricity.

Your eyes shoot open and you stare in horror as the electric barrier comes back up, Ward at the control as he stares back at you. Your guns are missing and there’s an uncomfortable feeling seeping into your chest, and you stare at him desperately.

“Grant, what are you doing? I came here to save  _you_. This isn’t a time for playing with your hacking skills.” You feel that same unease come into your chest and you stare at the electric barrier. You’re trying to figure out a way to get through it, to get it to lock down from here. Nothing’s coming clearly to you and you feel the panic starting in your chest.

“I never asked you to save me,” he replies in a careful voice, his eyes trailing your every movement. There’s something reserved there and you swallow thickly.

“I was following protocol!” Your voice raised slightly and you bit down on your lip hard, wincing as you felt the cut reopen again. Your eyes narrowed at him and you let out a shaky breath. “Let me out of here you son of a bitch!”

“Protocol was never to save me. That was the first part, at least.” Ward walked along the pad, slipping the guns into the waistband of his pants. You stared at him confused and swallows thickly, wanting to punch out at the barrier and break it down. You know logically though that it’ll only bring you more pain. “Garrett never told you. You didn’t need to know. The protocol was always to protect you. That was _my_  addition to it.”

“Grant,  _please_. Let me out of here and we can just disappear. Start over. Forget this whole thing,” you swallow hard and your hands are frantically searching the cell for something to use. Of course there won’t be anything in there, and you know there won’t be, but you can’t just stand there uselessly and staring at him. You have to  _try_  because it’s  _fight or_   _be trapped_  and it’s  _killing you inside_.

Ward clucked his tongue once and watched as you swallowed hard, keeping his eyes carefully masked. There’s an edge to him that you haven’t seen before, and it makes you nervous. “I don’t want that Bonnie and Clyde thing that you’ve got in your head.”

You bite down on your lip as he looks around at the cell, a slight approval in his eyes as he lets out a low whistle. “You look good in there, you know. SHIELD is where you belong. There’s going to keep you safe; you’ll probably wind up with Fitz and Simmons, and working on something fantastic and sciencey. Do some good in the world.”

“I’m not loyal to them!” Your hand does punch out this time before you can stop it and you let out a yelp of pain as the electricity bites into your skin. You cradle your hand to your chest for a moment, staring at Ward as he looks at you almost in pure sympathy. “I’m…I’m not loyal to any of them. Grant, Grant _please_ …”

“You’re going to do great things. Keep that in mind.” Ward lets out a small hum as he circles in front of the chamber once more. You stare back at him, nothing but hurt and betrayal in your eyes. He gives you a slight smile and lets his eyes trail over you again. “This time, don’t come looking for me kid. Listen to them and be smart.”

He turns away abruptly and you stare, feeling the true panic rise in your chest as Ward begins to head up the stairs. Your back hits the wall and you feel like your chest is about to cave in; you can’t breathe and everything is pulsing around you. You’re trapped like a rat and you can’t escape, and your only mission is walking up the stairs.

“Grant!” It’s a desperate scream, one full of fear and horror. He’s going to  _leave you here_  for SHIELD and that’s all that’s going to happen. His footsteps start to grow further away and you hear their uphill climb.

“Grant don’t do this you son of a bitch!” Your voice cracks and betrays you, and you swallow hard as your fingers grip desperately to the cement behind you. Your eyes frantically look around as you hear the door opening.

“Ward you mother fucker come back!”

The door slams closed behind him and you sink down to the floor. Staring out of the chamber in horror, you feel your entire body shaking and the tears brimming, attempting to fall. They’re from so many different forms of pain that you don’t know which is the most prominent. You can’t process it; it’s like a block in your mind and all you can feel is sheer panic as the minutes begin to tick into hours and your mind slowly starts to lose hope and regain some sense of sanity.

He isn’t coming back for you.


End file.
